Sunday Afternoon
by ellamequiere
Summary: 1989, and Hungary sees Prussia and Austria for the first time since the war
1. Prelude

Two of her oldest rivals, friends, enemies. She reflected sometimes that if you averaged them out, you might end up with a tolerable man. As it was… why did she put up with them? Well, what else could she do?

She'd slept with both of them. Austria… you didn't share a border with someone for seven centuries without ending up in bed a few times, whether you meant to or not. Then there had been the centuries of the intolerable Hapsburgs, and the wild few decades of the Dual Monarchy, and—well, she wasn't always proud of what they'd done, but she wouldn't take it back.

Despite what the rumors said, they'd never been lovers. They'd been in bed, and they'd ruled together, and Lord had they fought, but that kind of intimacy… They didn't have it, even now. She doubted they ever would—that they could, even if they wanted to. Some nights, when she was alone in bed and she couldn't sleep, she wasn't sure she hadn't once. But it hardly mattered now.

Prussia. They'd only really been close when they were both fighting Austria, but that didn't make it any less intense. She thought fondly of that last year before the Compromise; her rebellion had been suppressed by then—it had been nearly twenty years since Russia had allied with Austria to overrun her—so she couldn't join Prussia officially. She wasn't even directly involved in the conflict. But they had all known that in the aftermath of Austria's defeat, the man would have no choice but to recognize her. And Prussia, in those days… she remembered fucking him, wild and laughing, on the bloody field at Königgrätz.

The first time they'd all been in bed was during the Great War. They'd been thrown together by circumstance more than anything; it was late, and they were drunk and scared. It was near the end, and they all knew it. Not knowing if in a year she'd be even as sovereign as she was then, angry at them both and at herself, when Austria touched her, and she saw the look on Prussia's face… well, one thing had to another. Austria and Prussia barely met each other's eyes, let alone touched.

The War ended. During the intermediary years, they were all too concerned with rebuilding, regrouping to bother with each other. Then came the second War, and she hardly saw them. They were preoccupied with each other, and with Germany, the young nation who had finally formally absorbed Prussia. Most of her dealings were with this new nation; Prussia was fighting on the front lines, and Austria wasn't allowed to see her.

The agony of the fighting between the Germans and the Russians in her precious Budapest. Then the long decades of Soviet rule. She and Prussia—now the German Democratic Republic, a transition that none of them particularly understood—saw each other, but were too tired, too sad, to enjoy each other's company. There had been sex, but it had been simple, fast, nearly silent, and Hungary thought she'd seen tears in Prussia's eyes as he pulled up his pants and walked out. Austria was again off-limits.

The fall of the Wall, and the euphoria of sovereignty. Prussia, rejoining his brother, was too happy to worry about what it would mean for him as a nation. She remembered the first time they'd seen Austria; it was a Sunday, early afternoon, and the light against his government buildings had been beautiful. They'd been quiet, not meeting each other's eyes. Then Prussia had said, "Know what, guys? I think we should fuck."


	2. Chapter 2

"Know what, guys? I think we should fuck."

Austria sputtered. "Fall of communism- beginning of a new era- _and the first thing you think of is sex?_

Prussia stared at him. "Well, yeah." Hungary stifled a laugh.

Austria looked at her, and quickly away. She sighed, and stepped next to him, kissing his cheek. "Why not, Roderich? It's been a long, long time."

She saw a faint flush color his cheeks. Even when they'd lived together for all those centuries, she'd rarely used that tone with him. He coughed. "...yes," he said, almost inaudibly. "Yes, alright." Prussia's smirk was smug, and she wondered if he wasn't jumping to an unfounded conclusion (mostly unfounded) about the way the night would go. But it so wasn't her problem. She'd always been in a strange position, since in the cock-centric world of international politics, penetration was power. In sex that was purely political, she'd use a prop- it had its charms. But it wasn't right for this. So she was out of the pissing contest, and she was almost glad for it.

It was her house they went to- they always met at her house, it was easier for everyone. Inside, she took Austria's hand, and kissed it. He shifted uncomfortably at the traditionally masculine gesture, and she hid a predatory smile behind a sweeter one. "To bed, then?" she asked.

"Fuck yeah, to bed," said Prussia, and grabbed her by the arm. Still smiling, she elbowed him hard in the diaphragm. He doubled over coughing; they ignored him. Austria nodded, solemnly, and for once she didn't want to laugh. She let him take her arm and lead her up the stairs to her bedroom, with Prussia pounding up the stairs behind them.

When Prussia let the door slam behind them, Austria jumped. Hungary's smile didn't waver. Even after all these years, the sight of him off-balance and nervous appealed to the part of her personality that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with revenge. Prussia, boorish and clumsy as always, grabbed the other man by the hair, pulling his head back so that the whispered "Did I startle you?" slithered right into his ear. Austria's eyes closed- involuntarily, she suspected. Her blood was pumping fast and hot.

But... she kissed Austria on the cheek, and Prussia on the mouth, her own fingers tangling hard in his hair. 'Not now,' she mouthed. Prussia's expression was stubborn, so she added 'Not yet.' His face split into a predatory grin to match the one she'd kept inside. God but that shit got her hot. Tonight though, what they deserved- needed- was reconciliation. She was woman enough to know it, and man enough to make it happen.

Moving her mouth away from Prussia's- hands still in his hair- she turned to Austria. Kissed him, lightly, on the lips. His eyes closed. She couldn't be quite sure what he was feeling, and honestly, she didn't feel that it was her duty anymore to find out. If it ever had been. She moved her hands to his face, and watched Prussia's grab onto his hips. His expression was almost pained, but with a brush of a thigh she confirmed what she'd already known; he wanted them, badly.

This initial uncertainty as they felt out how the evening was going to go- who was going to fuck and suck, who was going to take and give- was achingly familiar. She watched the men's body language: Prussia, more and more daring, hands running up and down Austria's chest now, over his neck, under his cravat (Austria shuddered; his body relaxed infinitesimally against the other man). Austria, eyes closed, every moment fractions of a centimeter more pliant. She loved that. And later, the shame and anger as he tried to process what he'd agreed to- she loved that too. Revenge.

But tonight, she wasn't interested in being an accessory to their fucked-up mind games. She had hate of her own, and anger, and compassion and regret. They needed resolution, not more of that cock-measuring bullshit, no matter how hot it got her when Austria lost. So she left them and went to sit on her bed, spreading her legs just enough, and lifting her skirts an inch. Prussia's eyes followed her hungrily- omnivore- and Austria's face filled with pain. She met his eyes: You could have had this years ago, if you hadn't been such a selfish prick. Look what it took to get you here- two world wars, and nearly half a century of watching while I belonged to someone else. And now it's too late. You can have me, but you can't have me alone.

Austria understood enough to avert his eyes. Prussia stepped up to her- she still hadn't figured out how much she blamed him for what had happened in the forties, but that was for another time. He slid her skirt up her thighs, and she leaned back and let him. Then he did something she didn't expect. Instead of pushing her down on her back in his inimitably forward way, he knelt between her knees, and kissed the top of her thigh. She looked down at him, quizzical. When he looked up, she saw... guilt. Sorrow. Emotions she'd've thought too delicate for someone like Prussia.

He put his head back down, and licked a gentle line. She almost pushed him away- this wasn't going to erase what had happened to her Budapest, to her country. But watching the back of his head as he worked his way up to her hipbone and back down, she realized that it wasn't sex he was offering her. It was vulnerability. And that, she was willing to accept.

It was a long moment before she looked up at Austria. He was still looking away, cravat and hair mussed- his glasses had been removed. "Well?" she said, and she found that her voice was expectant.

The look he gave her was searching. "I wouldn't- that is to say-"

She knew how he felt about women. He might have wanted her like a lover, but she he'd never wanted her in the carnal way that he did Prussia. But this wasn't really about sex- it was about forgiveness. So she raised her eyebrows, and waited.

Finally, eyes downcast, he dropped to his knees and crawled to them. Prussia looked up at him in surprise- Austria didn't meet his eyes. Prussia shrugged, and moved over to give him room.

* * *

_...and then they did some stuff that you're not supposed to know about if you're not eighteen. As always, you can read all about it on my journal._


End file.
